Corrosion
by Giant Snapping Turtle
Summary: A realistic take on GI Joe, wherein Cobra presents a legitimate threat and everything does not go so smoothly. Viewer discretion advised, rating may go up.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey guys! So I know serious is not normally my cup of tea, but I've had this idea for a while. I really wanted to show how GI Joe would work in the real world today. Because of that, this story will be fairly graphic regarding violence and depressing situations. No Disney Happy Feet endings for us, guys. I hope this goes well! **

**HUGE thanks to Karama9 for being a freaking awesome beta! **

* * *

><p><strong>Zimbabwe, Africa<strong>

**1:32 AM **

Ayo froze when he heard harsh banging on the front door.

His mother had told him many hours ago to sleep, that everything would be okay, but no matter how hard he tried to close his eyes and rest, sleep refused to comfort him. He could see his sister in the crib on the other side of the room. She was also awake, her small hand reaching up into the air to grab something unseen. Perhaps sleep was hovering over her instead of Ayo. His mother always told him that sleep was a gift from God, and sometimes you had to try in order to receive it. His sister seemed not to notice the noise from the outside. But Ayo could hear the sharp staccato in the distance. He could hear cries in the night like the moaning spirits in his Grandmother's stories.

He had known something was wrong earlier that day. The neighbors had come by. They had their bags packed. Ayo had peeked around from the hallway, listening in while his sister played with the wooden blocks next to him. The neighbors were leaving, and they wanted Ayo and his sister to go with them. But his mother had said that they would leave tomorrow, and that things would be okay for tonight. His father had taken him aside later and told him to pack some clothing, and that they were going on a trip. His small backpack was still lying against the wall of his room. He had packed everything in there, except for his teddy.

The lights in the hallway flicked on, and he heard the fast footsteps of his father running down the hallway. The banging on the door had gotten louder and Ayo covered his ears, sinking down under the blankets and clutching his teddy. She had promised, she had promised when she tucked him in that everything would be all right. She promised the mean men would not come over to their home.

Shouting. Harsh voices and more banging. His door opened, and his mother put her hand to her lips; the symbol of silence. Her face was drawn and tight, like the time Ayo had fallen from the roof. Father had said back then that she was afraid he was hurt. But Ayo was fine right now. It must be the bad men.

She moved to the crib without turning on the light, her open robe billowing like the fresh sheets on the clothing line that Ayo loved to play around, dancing through them like a tiger hunting his prey. His mother picked up his little sister, cradling her in one arm and reaching for Ayo's hand with the other. The men were still shouting. Ayo could hear his father begging, pleading for the mean men to go. He promised them everything in their home, he promised them the entire home itself. Ayo heard the sharp clatter of glass and a cry from his father. He clasped his mother's hand.

"Please, we will do you no harm, we are not against you, please. Please sir, we don't want trouble!" Ayo caught a glimpse of his father. He was on his knees, palms up toward a man standing above him as if he were praising him. His father's white pajama top stood out against the dark cream of his skin, but Ayo could see a red stain spreading like spilled Kool-Aid on his shoulder.

His mother edged him toward the kitchen, still holding her finger to her lips. Ayo looked out the window as he entered their small tiled kitchen. The lights of their neighbor's home were on. He could see dark shadows like ghosts floating inside. But then someone smashed their neighbor's window, and there was a loud noise and then bright orange glowing lights were rising toward the night sky. Maybe they were trying to catch sleep too.

His mother began pulling out pots from underneath the sink, setting them gently on the ground to make sure they didn't make a sound. Ayo turned around to watch the shadow of his father. He was still on the ground, one hand over his shoulder and the other still raised to the man. Ayo heard the front door opening again and more shadows danced across the wall; more mean men were coming.

"Ayo." His mother had emptied the cabinet under the sink and she guided him in with a shaking hand. "Ayo take Ama. Stay here my child. Everything will be okay."

Ayo was only five, but he knew something was wrong. His mother was crying as she handed him his little sister, her smooth hands shaking as she stood.

"Ayo, do not come out for anything. Stay, I will be back."

The cabinet door was closed, and Ayo was plunged into darkness. The cries of his father were muffled, but the banging seemed to be getting closer. He heard his mother cry out, he heard her beg. He heard her scream and then he heard his father praying. He heard his father talking to his mother, saying that everything would be okay. So much noise; crying and screaming from the streets outside, the faint smell of burning. Ayo looked down at his sister. She looked back at him, eyes bright and nervous.

"It will be okay, Ama. Mama said that it would be okay. The men will go away soon." Ayo heard a loud bang and a groan, and then sobbing. The same sobbing he had heard from his mother when his father told him that his baby brother had gone to Heaven. Why was his mother crying? Ayo opened the cabinet, clutching his sister to his chest.

His mother was on the floor, a man over her, panting like a dog with a blood-smeared face. The man's hands were under his mother's shirt, he had something long and shiny pressed to her throat. It looked like a knife, but it was much bigger than any knife Ayo had ever seen. In the living room, Ayo could see his father also on the ground, although he was no longer begging. A man stood over him as well, also holding a shiny stick. But his was covered with red. Another man was holding a black thing. Ayo had found one when he was playing in the streets with his friends the other day. His father had yelled at him. He said that it was a very bad thing, and that Ayo should not have touched it. He said that it hurt people.

His mother kicked at the man and hit him in between his legs. The man stumbled and she got up, running to the kitchen to reach for her knife that she used to cut the chickens and cook them. It was Ayo's favorite meal.

The man stuck the big knife into his mothers back, and her low guttural scream scared Ayo. He pulled back, closing the cabinet door and huddling into himself, holding his sister tight to his chest.

Ayo could not hear his parents anymore.

But she promised. She had promised.

"She promised, Ama. Mama will come back."

* * *

><p><strong>Jhalawar, India<strong>

**3:12 PM**

Priya lifted up the mango, feeling the weight of it in her hand. It wasn't often that she went mango shopping. In her town, mangos only came once a year and when they did come, she always made sure she picked the best of the bunch. Only the ripest, fullest mangos were privy to her basket.

The one in her hand felt heavy and juicy, yet firm. She knew how to pick a good mango. When she was a child, her mother used to take her to the markets and show her how to choose the good items so the family would not get sick eating diseased plants. Her mother always told her that the best mango was one that felt heavy and juicy, and yet had skin that was firm and soft.

She missed her mother dearly. She had passed away soon after Priya had been married. The dowry they had to pay had been so great that when her mother fell ill, her parents did not have the money to bring her to a doctor. By the time they had finally asked Priya and her new husband for help, it was too late.

Priya put the mango in her basket, reaching into her pocket to pay the old man at the stand four rupees for each mango. He smiled at her, half of his teeth missing, and thanked her for her purchases. Priya nodded politely and gave him an extra rupee. Her father sold things along this street. He sold small handmade crafts for which people would often bargain a lower price. She knew how a little kindness of one extra rupee could go a long way. Perhaps this man would be able to pay for dinner tonight. Maybe he could get afford to get a _gulab jamun _for his children.

Down the street, there was a ruckus. She could hear people shouting even though they were far out of her sight. It was nothing out of the ordinary; people were always getting into fights here. She continued to walk down the alley, leaning down to give a piece of her _chapatti _to a wild dog. The dog's stumpy tail wagged and Priya smiled.

The shouts behind her escalated. Women's screams, that grew into a general panic among the women in the street. People drifted out of the small stands and stood motionless, gazing down the alley. People seemed to stop talking as the screams and shouts grew. The dog beside Priya turned tail and fled, and a cow that had been casually lying on the side of the road rose to its feet with a startled moo and trotted a few feet down. Priya clutched her basket. Maybe she should hurry home.

There was a loud crack, and suddenly the old man who had sold the mangos fell, a gasp frozen on his face as his hands went to clutch his side, fresh blood flowing from a bullet wound.

Hysteria. Panic. The town was crowded enough on market days, with people milling around the flooded streets, touching shoulder to shoulder at all times without the ability to move elsewhere. The shot had sent everyone into frenzy and now people pushed and shoved, trying to avoid the onslaught of bullets raining down on them. But with a street so full of people, every bullet could find a host. Priya was pushed over and she fell, losing grip on her basket and sending mangos tumbling across the road, only to get trampled by the stampede of people. The fall had stunned her; she could feel her lungs burning for air that they could not receive as she struggled to regain some sort of footing without success. There were too many people running around her, too many people falling from shot wounds, screaming and crying as they fell, taking down the people around them.

Someone kicked her in the side and someone else stepped on her leg. Priya cried out, rolling to her side and covering her head and neck to avoid being stepped on. Someone behind her fell, and she took that moment to raise, her strength fueled by unimaginable adrenaline. She fought her way to the other side of the street, collapsing behind a fallen table and holding her knee where a spectacular bruise was forming, so dark that the center was almost black against her tanned skin.

Behind the table, she was further away from the turmoil. But she could see it. The bullets sprayed like a hose from the alley exploding barrels of fruit and destroying storefronts, hitting people in the legs, the sides, the head. The fallen would trip the people who were still running as they tried to escape. Priya reached for her bag, but then realized it was still in the street, being trampled by the city's people. Her cell phone was most likely crushed at this point.

A new sound startled her and she turned to see an elephant that had been named Raj, reeling up on his hind legs, trunk extended into the sky. Raj gave the little children rides and posed with tourists, he had always been so calm, but not in the panic of the moment. He had begun to charge, and it brought a new chill through her spine. A woman who had fallen could not get out of the way in time, and Priya looked away just as Raj's giant foot came down on her. She closed her eyes and cupped her hands over her ears, but the screaming and shouting, the loud crack of guns going off, she could still hear it all.

When she finally opened her eyes, Raj was down the street, leaving behind stomped bodies in the street, more than Priya could count. The shooters were beginning to advance, moving towards her. She caught sight of the tan uniforms, the red stripes on the hats and the polished boots. Her heart thumped in her chest, pounding all invading sounds out of her ears. She could hear her heart working hard. She could feel it.

A ringing sound broke through her heartbeat. A phone. There was a phone nearby.

Trying to avoid catching the eyes of the shooters, she stretched her arm out, shifting through some trash and splintered wood until her hands closed around something small and vibrating. She pulled it to her and opened it, but the line had ended. She stared at the keypad, but was suddenly at a loss.

Who could she call when the police were the ones rioting?

* * *

><p><strong>Rome, Italy<strong>

**9:45 PM**

The flames licked at the cloudy night sky with a desperate hunger that Raffi could feel in his own stomach. In a way, he could feel a sort of brotherhood between himself and the fire. Two breathing things, unable to reach what they desperately wanted.

No one else seemed to be enjoying the display of beautiful sparks dancing in the wind. Fire trucks whirred and blared their horns; police men pushed people behind an invisible line of safety, as if they knew the boundaries of what this fire could not reach; what this fire would never get. Firefighters were busy bustling in and out of the enveloped building, some carrying people colored grey from ash, and other carrying nothing but a flagrant disregard for the spirit they were trying to break. They didn't understand that the fire was manmade, born from the wires and circuitry dropped by a skilled pilot. How could humans create something so dangerous, but then squash it, destroy it as if it never had a chance to begin with. Raffi sat at the edge of the street, to the side of the hustle. He just sat and watched, like a parent watching their child sail up so high, only to be brought back down. Many things that parents told their children were a lie anyway. Raffi could not be anyone he wanted to be, although his mother had frequently reminded him that he could. Raffi could believe in himself all he wanted, but he still couldn't make a dollar out of dirt.

Of course, Raffi hadn't called for the air strike. Raffi was a no one. But that didn't stop him from appreciating the beauty. There was elegance in fire that he couldn't see in anything else.

The air raid sirens still blared. In the distance he could hear more bombs dropping, the explosions and screams. He could feel the rumbling of the earth as it groaned under the pressure of the flames and bursts of energy. Fires spread like a disease through his city. They lit the sky, covering the stars with a mixture of light and smoke.

The city was falling. He could feel fear pulsing through his veins like a drug. There had been no warning. Raffi hadn't even realized that it was a possibility. He did not know who was attacking them, but the planes flew overhead, now joined by Italy's own planes, the finest there was.

Raffi could not tell who was attacking. He had heard speculation from the people that he had passed by. Some said it was Turkey, others said Austria. He even heard one man who had screamed into the sky, cursing France and its inhabitants. But he could not find a reason for any of them. Sure, Italy had never been on fantastic terms with these countries, but an unprovoked attack?

People rushed past him, running to the outskirts of the city, carrying whatever they could, precious pictures, a treasured stuffed animal, a child. Even the firefighters were leaving, realizing that this was one fire (or several) that they could not put out.

"Help! Someone help! My baby!"

Raffi watched a woman step forward from the crowd, running towards the flames. She was waving her hands up high above her head, her face smudged with ash. A fireman went to grab at her shoulders to pull her back, but she wrenched through. Herculean powers stirred in her as the roar of the water hoses drowned the cries of her child out.

Before she could reach into the flames, however, an unseen force collapsed her, and she crumpled to her knees. Raffi had never heard such cries of anguish, and seemed to remember a time when he might have felt that way about his own family. Raffi saw a fireman give a signal to pull back. This fire had gotten too dangerous for anyone to go inside, and they would have to accept the child as a loss.

But a life was a terrible thing to lose, and Raffi was more than happy to relinquish his own to save the burning child in the fire. What good was he to the world anyway? Sitting and watching was not what he was meant to do with his life. He was meant for something greater. Something better! Maybe saving this kid was it. Maybe he could finally be the hero.

A rush of heat, the stab of ashes against the soft tissue of his throat. A blinding light blurred his vision; the sound of the collapsing building set him away from the world. Suddenly, Raffi felt very alone. No one would come for him. No one would follow him into the fire.

No one would follow anyone into a fire. People don't follow others into fires. They bring people out of them. No one willingly walks into a burning building.

A faint cry, a cough, a shuffle of the ashes by the edges of his vision. A desperate sound, like the mewling of a newborn kitten. Strange it must be, to be born into a fire. But Raffi knew; everyone was born to flame, pushed to the smoke.

Raffi reached lower, avoiding the heavy smoke above him, the crumbling wood around him. He reached for the outstretched hand of the little girl. Her skin was soft but thick, like the sand on the beach, damp from the frequent spray of the Ocean. He could feel the sand; feel it stretched along his skin like wet spandex.

The girl coughed in his arms, and Raffi held her closer to him. He hoped she would survive. He hoped he could get her out. They could put this feeble life on oxygen; they could stick her with a needle. They could save her.

A moment of jealousy. They would save her. The medics, the firefighters. Not a poor homeless man who had run into an engorged building to save her. But that jealousy was gone when he emerged from the building and he saw the mother's face filled with disbelief and unbridled joy, like a hand around his heart. The hand squeezed, and Raffi shuddered. He dropped the girl; deposited her into a practiced medic's arms. Somewhere in that time his knees had hit the ground, and his hands sunk into that warm beach sand.

Talking. Screaming. Shouting. The stab of a needle into his arm. The cold mask pushed against his face. Lifted out of that warm beach sand, and dropped onto a cold metal stretcher.

"What's your name?" A man's face in his burning vision. The pain as his eyes struggled to focus. His name. He seemed to remember having a name.

The man continued to ask him questions, but Raffi couldn't remember. Who was he? What had he done? Where had the beach gone?

"You're a hero."

* * *

><p><strong>UN Consulate<strong>

**Emergency room**

**4:30 PM **

"Gentlemen, we've got a situation."

The president placed his hands on the worn podium. He had stood at its wooden helm many times, and he knew the strength that it brought people like himself. Behind the podium, he would be safe.

"Yesterday morning, groups of rebels in Africa began to mobilize against small villages and towns, but are moving closer and closer to key cities as we speak. We haven't been able to get through their barrier, but reports are coming in from several places depicting gangs of people terrorizing the civilians. They have made no demands. A few hours later, the police in India staged an attack at the Jhalawar marketplace, where casualties are approximately 320 and still rising by the minute. Last night, there was an air raid over Rome in Italy. This attack was led by a terrorist group in France that has yet to be named, and they have no clear motive either."

"We have no control over the country!" The ambassador from India stood, pounding his fist into the table as people turned to pay attention to him. "Without the police, there is less order than there has ever been! And there is no force to stop them with the armies siding with them! We are asking for help to get this under control before more lives are lost! None of the cities are safe anymore, people are fleeing the country!"

"We ask for assistance as well." The ambassador from Zimbabwe stood, holding his head high despite the terror and chaos his country was in. "We have so many separate incidents all over Zimbabwe, even all over Africa. There is simply no way to spread our resources so thin as to be able to stop them all."

"Italy is not in the best condition right now." The Italian minister stood as well, gesturing with his hands in an outward arc displaying understanding. "We lost many key cities in the bombings, and many of our aircraft and war materials have been destroyed. There are still continuing attacks now as we speak! This must be brought under control."

There was a moment of chatter in the room, like a low tremor before an earthquake. The potential recipe for disaster; countries would have to choose who to support. There was no right decision.

"What I would like to know is why now? These attacks have very little in common and no motive. And very, very little money. How did they afford all these things? Planes are not cheap and neither are industrial bombers." The British representative pointed to a screen where various pictures were being displayed. "These are better weapons than are readily available. The attack plans are not random and unorganized as violence normally is. What is going on?"

The President nodded and motioned for the French ambassador to rise.

"We did some looking into this terrorist group as soon as we heard of it." The French ambassador turned to the Italian. "This was by no means instigated by the French government, and we offer our condolences for what has been done and we assure you that every effort is being implemented to track these terrorists down." He cleared his throat and motioned to the screen. "We have looked into some security cameras around the streets that we believe have high terrorist activity." On screen, the image of a tall, black haired woman walking past a meter maid appeared. The shot was blurry, perhaps taken by a convenience store camera that was angled outside, but the President recognized the woman as the Baroness almost instantly.

"This woman is connected to a terrorist group named Cobra. It is our belief that somehow, Cobra is funding the attacks. The reason for this is still unclear, but as I said, we are continuing to look into it."

"What do you suggest we do while you look into it?" The Indian ambassador shook his head. "We have no armies. I urge the UN to mobilize, to attempt to get some sort of control in our cities. In all of our countries."

The President shook his head. If this was heading down the road he thought it was, then more than UN Peacekeepers would be needed.

"Call in the Joes."

* * *

><p><strong>Tell me what you think, this is my first shot at a story like this! I hope you enjoyed! <strong>


	2. Chapter 2

**I don't own GI Joe. Or any of the countries mentioned. Also, the world problems mentioned are not meant to be real (other than that they draw from certain issues that I have made more severe).**

**I've made an attempt at a realistic army unit. So although some characters seemed more shallow in the comics or shows, I've made them a bit more insightful and realistic. If there is anyone that seems just entirely OOC let me know please! **

**Thank you for reading and thanks to Karama9 for beta-ing!**

* * *

><p><strong>GI Joe Conference Room<strong>

**7:30 PM**

"At ease, take a seat."

General Hawk sat in his chair at the front of the room, behind the projector. The lights in the room were dim so the images could be seen, and those pictures were certainly grim. They had been collected from various sources, some Hawk was sure were less than trustworthy. However, the images had been authenticated and declared to be un-shopped from GI Joe's own department; Mainframe had checked the coding himself. After seeing a few of the stills, Hawk had wished that the pictures had not been authenticated. Horrible massacres caught on film; children slaughtered with butcher knives, women trampled to death in a stampede, the burnt ruins of the once magnificent Rome. It looked surreal; Hawk had seen more than his fair share of combat situations. Somehow, there seemed to be a level of disorder that wasn't a normal component of war. These attacks seemed frantic and desperate, but also prearranged and strategic.

"Cobra seems to be expanding their reach," Hawk flipped off the images of the attacks and changed the screen to a grainy picture of the Baroness. "This image was taken in France in a district known as Belleville. As far as we know, this is the area where the new terrorist group has emerged. Other than that, we know very little. For all we know as of now, it could just be another branch of Cobra."

"Baroness was captured in this picture around noon on the day of the attacks. We have possible sightings of her around Belleville, but since we have no way to be certain, we cannot take these alleged sightings as proof. But I can promise that the Baroness's new location and this new group's showing up is no coincidence."

Hawk flipped the slideshow to a map of France, focusing on the Belleview district. "Now the French say they have been up and down this area, but they have not detected any suspicious behavior that is out of the ordinary. But France doesn't have our skills and equipment."

Hawk motioned to the Joes gathered around the conference table. "I have created the following teams according to skill sets and the specific demands of the missions. Hammer Team will be going into Africa to assist the UN peacekeepers and the African armies. Your team leader will be BeachHead. The team members will be Snake Eyes, Roadblock, Wild Bill, Lady Jaye, Gung-Ho, Lifeline, and Steeler."

"Echo Team will be going into India to control the rebellion before they stage a coup. Team leader will be Duke and Ace, Storm Shadow, Cover Girl, Tripwire, Doc, Dusty, and Rock N' Roll will be team members."

"Tango Team will be going into the Belleview district in France. This is an intelligence lead mission; Scarlett will be lead. Team members will be Clutch, Stalker, Mainframe, Slipstream, and Flint."

General Hawk was not blind to the ties in his unit; he saw and accepted the violations of the fraternization regulations that other generals may have called egregious. But there was little he could do, and as long as it did not impede on his soldiers' ability to get the job done, there was no reason to tamper with an issue that he would eventually lose. Hawk knew how short life could be in the military and how much these people put on the line, and he knew that they also deserved to be able to find love and solace in one another. But when he could, he tended to aim towards separating them in missions. Not because he was worried that the relationships would cause blunders or misinterpretations, but to make difficult decisions easier for everyone. Hawk knew that if given the opportunity to decide, the Joes may have picked different teammates. But he knew his soldiers; he knew their strengths and weaknesses. The teams he had chosen would be the most effective.

The team leaders approached Hawk, each accepting the duty he was placing on them. It had been a while since GI Joe had been called upon to deal with something other than Cobra directly. Now, although Hawk was certain the Commander had some sort of agenda in all of this, the Joes were being deployed to fight rebellions in other countries. All of the soldiers were experienced and prepared, but it still held somewhat of a different feel. Hawk could remember when he had known very little about Cobra, other than that it was a terrorist organization. It felt like new territory, dangerous and undiscovered. The anxiety that came with not knowing exactly what they would be dealing with, or moreover, _who_ they would be dealing with, and their ability to put that aside is what made them Joes. Hawk knew they would handle this operation just as they would handle anything else.

"All of you will reconvene in an hour in the proper conference rooms. Dismissed."

The Joes stood and filtered out of the room, speaking softly about the images seen, speculations of how the missions would turn out, and who was really behind all of this.

"All right. Here are your individual mission files. They contain maps of the area, suggest routes and places to avoid, and people you need to know." General Hawk looked at BeachHead, who was sifting through the files, his brow drawn under the balaclava. "For you, the maps will be particularly important. You'll want to avoid any areas that have been marked red. Outback created those maps specifically for this mission, and the red areas contain particularly violent tribes and places already hit. When you get there, you're going to want to help." Hawk waited until BeachHead was done giving the maps a once over and looked back up. "It is important that you do not get held back by trying to assist places that have already been hit. Your goal is to halt any further damage. You go to where the insurgents are currently."

BeachHead nodded, rubbing the back on his neck with his hand. "Yes sir. Avoid the red areas and keep moving forward. Do we have a potential timeline here? They seemed unorganized but ah know they must have some sort of goal."

"Well, from what the ambassador from Zimbabwe said, the rebels are extremely disgruntled citizens. They seem to be moving towards the larger cities. We can only conclude that their goal is to take down as many of the governments in Africa as they can. However, with the amount of people being killed on the way to the city, it's almost safe to say that this is rearing toward genocide. They attack those who do not join them." Hawk circled an area on the map, stabbing it with his pen. "This city right here is most likely where they will be when you arrive. It's the city before they reach the government offices in Zimbabwe. If you are able to stop them there, then you can give the government officials time to relocate before the rebels strike again."

"Yes sir. I'll brief them and we'll leave in the mornin'." BeachHead sighed at some of the pictures in his file, stopping for a moment when a pile of bodies stacked on top of each other caught his eye. A little girl, doll still clutched in her hand, was sprawled on the bottom. Her face had been made unrecognizable by lacerations. BeachHead snarled. "It'll be mah pleasure ta kill every last one of the bastards."

Normally, Hawk would have had his teams deploy immediately. But the short notice had left them unprepared. Time would need to be allotted to prepare the transportation, load the vehicles and weapons, and clear the international borders.

General Hawk dismissed him and he left with the file in hand, lashing out at a pair of greenshirts for no particular reason other than having anger born from the images and no other outlet.

"Duke, right now the situation in India is racing towards a war with Pakistan." Hawk handed Duke his own file, and the Top Sergeant thumbed through it, nodding at the areas marked in red and Outback's written notes on the side. "The rebels in India are aiming attacks in areas with high Muslim populations, and taking out anyone along the way. We believe that their goal is to take over the government and put up a new one in its place. The border between Pakistan and India has been under siege by these rebels for a while, and they have even crossed the border into Pakistan's own territory. As a result, Pakistan has been launching counter-attacks which are killing more innocents, and revving India up for an actual war."

"India hasn't explained to Pakistan that the rebel group is not part of a planned attack or even a government ordered unit?" Duke pulled out a few of the recorded conversations with the prime ministers of Pakistan and India and nodded. "Or is it that Pakistan won't tolerate any attack, rebel group or not?"

"From what we've gathered, Pakistan is targeting places where the rebels are staying, but not all their information is correct and more than half of the time they are hitting free cities. India can't allow them to keep bombing their land. If the rebels take over the government, then they will declare war on Pakistan. If things keep going the way they are, then war will be declared on Pakistan. Your job is to stop the rebels before they can take over the government, and stop the attacks on the border. Hopefully, if we can successfully get this under control, Pakistan will stop their counter-attacks and there will be no need for war."

"Understood sir." Duke stood and saluted before exiting the room, keeping the files under his arm as he pushed open the door to find half of his team waiting for him outside. Hawk watched the door close and then he turned to Scarlett.

"This is an important mission," Hawk said, sliding the file over to her. She flipped the documents open, scanning them quickly with a practiced eye. "Hopefully, this mission will tell us who these new terrorists are, and what Cobra's involvement in this whole mess is. I want to make it clear that this is only a recon mission. Unless you are fired upon first, I want this to be clean and quick."

Scarlett nodded once, gliding her finger over the vague picture of the Baroness. "This has Cobra's finger prints all over it. This all does. Only this time, they don't seem to be doing the fighting themselves. They must be expanding. Making allies."

"As bad as that sounds, it is probably true. If you and your team can find any information linking Cobra to any of these attacks or any of the people involved, it will give us enough probable cause to engage Cobra directly instead of fighting their diversions." Hawk pointed to a sheet with address listings. "The French provided us access to their databases, and these are the empty or foreclosed buildings. I'd suggest checking out these areas first before fanning towards more populated areas.

"Thank you, sir." Scarlett left the room, closing the door behind her. General Hawk slumped in his chair, exhausted from the hours of meetings and preparations he had attended with the UN and various allies. Although the attacks seemed random, the staging was surprisingly strategic. If Cobra was behind this-as he strongly suspected-then someone had chosen the exact places to strike. With the problems in Africa, most of the UN would be busy fighting against the rebels. The situation in India was quickly escalating to a war that was sure to drag most of Asia down with it, and this new terrorist unit, whatever its premise was, would eventually become an even larger problem that it appeared to be now.

Hawk knew these were diversions. Years of fighting Cobra had taught him how the Commander's mind worked. True, it had never happened on this big of a scale, but that hardly meant it wasn't plausible. The only reason he hadn't mobilized against Cobra to begin with was the President.

The new election season had brought with it a new president. An old friend of Hawk's, he was a good, honest man. He did things the old fashioned way, and was very intelligent in the ways of diplomacy. Which is why he had insisted that Hawk do a full investigation before launching an attack. In other words, Hawk would need more solid proof than just his gut feelings.

Now all he could do was to try and sort through the political nightmare this was turning into.

* * *

><p><strong>Hammer Team<strong>

**Room B118**

**8:30 PM**

BeachHead opened the files and slipped out the photos, handing them off to Lady Jaye to pass down the table. He had spent the last forty-five minutes reading over every section of these reports, memorizing the maps and the notes.

"This is awful." Lady Jaye passed the photos down, bringing up a hand to cover her forehead. "Rebellions are always bad, but normally they don't have these kinds of weapons. Now somehow, they have the money to buy machine guns and tanks? They're running over entire towns."

Lifeline spread the pictures on the table, wincing in disgust and turning away, sliding the photos down the line. "You mix in money with pure evil and this is what you're going to get. I don't think these guys even have a plan. They just go on these rampages and kill everyone in sight."

"That's what it looks like," BeachHead spoke up, drawing everyone's attention forward. "But I don't think that's what is really goin' on here. There are too many coincidental attacks for this to be an unorganized riot." BeachHead motioned to a map of recent attacks over Africa. Sure enough, a certain pattern was followed in the countries under attack. They started in poor areas, local villages and such, and evolved into larger scale areas. The diameter of the regions where attacks happened increased with each day. And they were all headed towards the major city of the country, the capital. "I think there's somethin' goin' on in here that we just ain't seein' yet. But regardless, figuring this out ain't our job. We just gotta stop em' all from doin' away with the government buildings and their officials."

*Who is this man? * Snake Eyes pointed to a man in one of the photos. The man pictued was tall and slender, with a sharp nose and edges like a rock cliff. Something about the man seemed too harsh. *He is in nearly every picture here. *

BeachHead looked over Snake Eye's shoulder as he pointed out the unidentified man in more than half of the pictures. He was certainly not the main focus but he was always lingering in the background; piling bodies, holding a gun and having a beer with another rebel, and in one particularly nasty photo, stabbing a man with a thick curved sword.

"Huh. I didn't catch that. Good find, Spook."

"Well, yeah. He's the only one who could stomach looking at those pictures for long enough," Steeler said, pointing to the man found in yet another picture. "Damn, who is this guy? It's not enough to be out there slaughtering wholesale, but he's gotta make every picture too?"

"I found something ya'll might wanna see." Wild Bill held up a file, with a picture of the man in the photos on it. The picture on this one, however, looked standard, as if the image was of his driver's license or his passport. "Says here his name is Odera Yamekwena. He's a representative in the Zimbabwe government. The House of Assembly. But what he's doin' out in these pictures, I ain't got the slightest clue."

BeachHead frowned and looked at the dossier. Sure enough, this man, Odera Yamekwena, was part of the Zimbabwe parliamentary government. That hardly made sense. "Well, since no one here knows the guy, we won't be able ta tell until we get back there. So we'll cross that road when we come to it. Right now, our only job is to defend the cities."

"Wait," Lifeline leaned forward, pushing an index finger into the pictures. "We're not going to provide any relief assistance?"

BeachHead shook his head. "There'll be time fer that when were done stoppin' the entire thing. Right now, we can't afford to get distracted and fall behind or more people will be gettin' hurt."

"I don't know, we're gonna be passing a lot of places. We can't stop and help if we see something going down?" Roadblock crossed his arms. "That isn't gonna happen, we all know that."

"Well," BeachHead rubbed his forehead in frustration. "It's gotta happen gawd dammit. We have a job to do. Relief comes later. We can't just forget about ourf orders. Then we'll be making more problems. The General knows what he's talking about, that's why he's the general and you ain't. So follow the plan."

Roadblock didn't seem satisfied, and neither did the rest of his team. In fact, BeachHead didn't feel very fulfilled himself. It wasn't in him to deny someone help. He knew that it would be difficult to pass such a situation, but he also knew how important following orders were. It was what separated humans from beasts, order from anarchy. It was necessary.

"So what's our plan then?" Gung-Hu passed the photos back to BeachHead and motioned to the maps. "Where are we entering from?"

*Northwest of the city. * Snake Eyes lifted a pencil and drew an arrow into the city. *Enter from there, and we avoid a lot of the areas that have already been hit, and we'll be able to go straight through and stop their advance, given that they're all coming in from approximately the same direction. *

"There are several small teams, if you will, that have somewhat fanned out. But they've all fanned out to the southern sections and are moving forward. We'll be spread pretty thin, but Snake Eyes is right. Northwest would be the best move." Lady Jaye, with a nod from BeachHead, finalized the pencil arrow with a black pen. "We move in from here, travel down and wait until they come."

"What about an evacuation?" Steeler asked. "I'm sure they already have one, but we could help with that instead of waiting around for them to show up. Some rebels are bound to get through and it would be a lot more satisfying for me if they got through to an empty city."

"It's a fairly big city and there will always be people who don't want to leave their homes." Gung-Ho shrugged. "We can't go around and double check every home. We can leave that up to the local forces."

"All right. Come in from the Northwest, defend city, kick ass in city, and then we can help with relief?" BeachHead nodded, accepting Steeler's plan, although he would have to modify the phrasing in his paperwork.

"Then that's what we'll do. Wild Bill is our air transport. Lady Jaye will help us smooth things over with the local forces and their citizens. Gung-Ho, Steeler, Roadblock, and Snake Eyes know what to do. Lifeline, you're our medic provided we need one. Hell, I know _someone_ will need one." His team nodded in response. "All right then. We leave at 0700, sharp. Pack what you need, there's no telling when we'll be back."

* * *

><p><strong>Echo Team<strong>

**Room B112**

**8:30 PM**

The small hand radio in the room was on, the Joes gathered around it as if the low, gravelly voice coming out of it were a source of warmth.

"I can't understand his dialect easily, but it sounds like he's reporting on the resistance…in favor of it from what I can hear." Storm Shadow leaned in closer to the radio. His hearing was perfection, but the distance of the transmission and the difficult accent made understanding the man on the radio challenging. "Looks like it's grown from one police force to entire cities. I think we're looking at a civil uprising."

"We see that a lot with rebellions," Dusty said, leaning forward in his chair and turning the dial off. "People are afraid to go against the rebellion so they join it. It has happened in places like Africa and South America. I guarantee that half of their fighters are not going along with this because they believe it is the right path."

"Unfortunately," Duke set the files down and nodded at Dusty, "that is most likely the case. Over half of India's army has joined the resistance, as well as thousands of citizens. We're going to have untrained people running around with weapons, but our main goal is to stop the violence before they succeed in taking over the government." Duke had seen situations like this one before he had joined the Joe team. He had witnessed small children with machine guns in Africa and farmers with bazookas in the Middle East. He had learned the hard way that sometimes, the ones with no experience or training were also the ones who were the most dangerous. More civilian casualties tended to happen with these circumstances.

"Pakistan is already mobilizing their own troops in response to these attacks," Cover Girl said, noting where the recent attacks had taken place along the border. "We've got one large group travelingtowards New Delhi, and another large group still attacking the borders."

"Pakistan is taking that as an invasion then? I don't blame them. But if they declare war, then their allies will declare war. Then India will have no choice but to declare war back, and _their_ allies will come to aid them. Most of Asia will be caught in a large scale war, in that case. Not to mention internal conflict." Rock N' Roll was seated on the table, and he spread the files out with a sweeping gesture to be able to see most of them. "Looks like we should stop the attacks on the borders first?"  
>"That seems like we're taking it piece by piece," Doc said, offering his opinion. "You go to the border, you aren't handling the problem. You end up bouncing from place to place fixing the <em>results<em> of the problem. We need to fix the main problem, and the only way to do that is to take back control at the capital. If the people see that the rebellion is failing, then maybe they'll feel liberated enough to dissent from the rebellion."

Storm Shadow looked at the map of the border, turning his head slightly. "This looks like a planned attack. See how the hits are moving up in order? These aren't random. Not only that, but they're avoiding all of Pakistan's blockades. If this is a regular insurgence, then highly intelligent people must be calling the shots. They've got to have an inside man. You can't know where the blockade is before it's even placed." He paused for a moment. "Well, I suppose you could if you were to position yourself into Pakistan's government meetings and listen to the military strategies…but I doubt that this resistance movement has people capable of pulling off something like that."

"Yes, Storm Shadow. They don't have you," Ace snorted, rubbing his forehead with the palm of his hand. "But he's right. Normal scale risings don't have this kind of direction. I'm willing to bet that someone is calling the shots on this."

"Well then I'm not betting that there isn't. It's already a closed deal, Ace has bet." Rock N' Roll laughed and Ace casually saluted, tipping back in his chair. He straightened when Duke cleared his throat.

"We defend the capital." Duke pointed to the star on the map of New Delhi. "This is where the officials have bunkered down. The entire city is blocked off and since they have no access to any military equipment, they're unable to take an air route out of there. We have to get in there and get them out, and then can we start stopping the insurgents' advance.

"Storm Shadow, Rock N' Roll, Dusty, Cover girl, and Tripwire will be following me into the city to collect the officials and transport them to the airport where Ace and Doc will be waiting. Tripwire, according to the last reports we got, many of the government buildings are wired with explosives. We're going to need you to deactivate those before we can chance moving in."

"Got it," Tripwire said, tapping a finger on the table in rapid fire. "I know the types of explosives readily available in that region. My guess is they didn't go too far to find better materials. It shouldn't be a problem."

"Good. And Doc, it's been hours since we've had contact with anyone there. They could be hurt and we need to do our best to make sure they stay alive. If they die, there won't be enough order to get a proper replacement in and the rebellion will have succeeded."

"I'll do my best, Duke." Doc sighed. "Although it would be easier if we could establish a connection so I could know who we were dealing with."

"Well, the best we can do is get there as soon as possible. And when we do, I'm sure Storm Shadow will be able to get in faster than any of us if you need to be prepared." Cover Girl turned to look at Storm Shadow when he snorted.

"I see. You expect me to wander into dangerous, most likely explosive territory while you mosey on through after I clear the way?" Storm Shadow scoffed and crossed his arms. "I would appreciate it if someone would at least be surprised by what I'm capable every once in a while. I'm so underappreciated now."

"Underappreciated my ass," Ace said, closing the file. "We just know what to expect and know that you will go above and beyond our expectations. That is an extreme compliment." Rock N' Roll laughed and pushed back his file, nodding at Duke.

"We'll be ready by 7:00, sir."

"Good, be ready. This will be a long week." The slight throbbing in his head reminded Duke that it would be in his best interest to pack about half of his bag with Tylenol.

* * *

><p><strong>Tango Team<strong>

**Room B109**

**8:30 PM**

Mainframe sat at the computer, fingers flying across the keyboard like a pianist's. "Looks like there are only three places that fit your restrictions, Scarlet. One is an abandoned slaughter house and the other two are empty storage facilities." He printed out the addresses and handed them to Scarlet, shutting down his computer. "Most of the others weren't large enough, or didn't have the right structure."

"Thank you," Scarlet took the addresses and lined them up with the map. The empty lots looked promising, but with her luck it would probably be the slaughter house. She hoped it would be the former. "Looks like they're all relatively close. They're roughly about 30 miles apart from each other. We'll sweep them all just to be sure."

"Now, they've most likely already packed up if the French have been searching for them like they said. But we should be able to find traces of them wherever they were." Stalker looked over the addresses that Scarlet handed him, nodding in agreement. "These look good…great job Mainframe."

"Did you except less?" Mainframe clasped his hands together and leaned forward on the desk. "There haven't been any signals coming out of those buildings in the last 24 hours, but farther than that I won't be able to tell."

"Well, I'd say a good place to start is that shop that had the camera that took the picture of the Baroness. Whatever is closest to that store was most likely their base." Flint lifted the picture to the light, as if the light would reveal a water stain with the answer.

"Actually, it may be more effective than sweeping each building individually." Scarlet looked down at the map and sighed. "Looks like the slaughter house is closest." Figures. She would have bet money that Cobra would have eventually chosen to operate in a slaughter house. It had to be appealing to the type of people the Commander attracted.

"Really? How does that not put a damper on the mood?" Clutch said, raising his arms above his head. "I mean, there you are, trying to run an evil terrorist empire, and some poor innocent cow is getting its guts torn out behind you!"

"I highly doubt that the slaughter house is still in business. How practical would that be, with the smell and all." Slipstream looked at the image. "Yeah, look at that. She's got a talkie in her hand. She's communicating with someone. I bet she has something to do with the bombings on Rome."

"We _know_ she had something to do with it. Now we just have to prove it." Scarlet pointed to the surrounding area around the slaughter house. "Now there's a lot of open space around her. If we can find out where those bomber jets came from then we'll at least have the new terrorist unit marked."

"It's highly unusual." Stalker shook his head and crossed his arms. "Normally these people are proud of their work, they announce it. They want others to know about it. Even Cobra usually takes credit for their work if they succeed.

"I agree. The fact that _no one_ has claimed the attack is unreal. There are normally at least two dozen groups trying to claim any of the attack. But for some reason this one is being left alone. We're going to have to find enough information to nail Cobra to the wall."

"If we don't find direct links to Cobra, then we have no grounds to attack them**.** We're barred from taking any action without explicit approval from the President." Flint shook his head, expressing his disapproval of the new policy that had been implemented. "When we need to get something done, we need to get it done. We can't be waiting on the President to sign off approval every time we have a problem."

"Yeah, but seeing as we have to, we might as well get the evidence as soon as possible. The more we wait, I know the harder it will be to get the order from him." Slipstream motioned to the picture of the world map against the wall, mainly there for decorative use. "We've got total chaos going on in this side of the globe." He motioned to the Eastern half, sweeping over it with his hand. "But this half? Completely untouched. That makes me nervous. The President has pretty much thrown all our troops to other countries. If anyone decides to suddenly hit here, we won't have anyone here to protect them."

Scarlett had noticed that herself. It was unusual for Cobra to have such a wide spread, and even more unusual to not drag the North and South Americas into it. She knew that Slipstream was thinking this was a ploy to empty the Americas and leave them unguarded, thus ripe for Cobra to come pluck it up. But without that proof from France, there was little they could do.

"We need to find the link first," Clutch said, voicing her thoughts. "If we don't find the link, then we don't know for sure. I'd rather know what we're dealing with here, before this gets to be too much to handle. I mean everyone is concerned with the deaths. And yeah, that sucks. But what about the economy? We're already seeing a huge downward fluctuation. It won't matter if they attack. If the economy gets low enough, then the people themselves will attack out of frustration. When people can't buy food, they start killing each other."

That was an interesting idea. Clutch had a point, which was highly unusual. Scarlett hadn't seen much of an intellectual side from Clutch before, but that must have been a side effect from attempting to ignore most of his commentary. Even though his theory made sense, she couldn't shake the feeling that somehow the Commander was pulling the strings here. There was too much going on at once for it to be coincidental, and the only plausible explanation was that there was a head to this snake. A boss.

"That may be, but I don't feel comfortable taking that chance," Flint said, nodding at Scarlett. "We need to go to France and find a link. If there isn't one, we'll keep digging until we find one. We know this is Cobra."

"There will be one," Mainframe said. "Cobra never cleans up very well. All I need is one slightly usable hard drive, and I know they probably didn't take them all. Matching them up won't be a problem and then we'll have our proof. One hard drive."

"Okay then." Scarlett closed her file and motioned to her team. "Slipstream, you'll bring us close to the slaughter house. Once we're there, Flint, Mainframe and I will check it out while Clutch, Slipstream and Stalker check out the surrounding city. Try and locate the store she was at, that would be a good start. Any questions?"

"No questions, except to compliment your leadership. Charge suits you well," Clutch winked and Stalker slowly shook his head, looking back up at Scarlett as if to ask why she had put them in the same group. Scarlett smiled.

"It does, doesn't it?" She shook her head and laughed slightly as the team stood to return to their rooms. "Pack up and get a good night's sleep. We leave tomorrow at seven. Don't be late."

* * *

><p><strong>Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed!<strong>


	3. Chapter 3

**Next chapter! Hope you enjoy! **

* * *

><p><strong>GI Joe Hammer Team<strong>

**Zimbabwe, Africa**

**3:30 PM**

For all the good in the world, there was more than enough evil to counter it. BeachHead could attest to this statement; he could prove its truth. He had fought before; he had seen the soul of the Devil in a soldier standing over a body. He had seen the poison of brutality seep into a person. He'd tasted it himself once, long ago. It wasn't pleasant, but it was viral; infectious like a plague over a population. It was easy to forget what you were fighting for sometimes. It was easy to forget why you were killing. But moments like these forced him to remember.

He couldn't see the dried dirt of the Earth under all the corpses. Innocent people, their faces upturned and frozen in horror forever, slaughtered by an imperfect hand. Too many bodies, too much death. They could not even drive on the road anymore. Steeler had attempted to drive around the fallen earlier, but had stopped after there was no room to navigate around them.

"We'll have to go on foot then," BeachHead said, thankful his balaclava kept most of the awful smell out.

Next to the Sergeant Major, Lifeline covered his own face with a cloth before turning around and coughing violently into it. "There's no way around this, huh?"

"Unfortunately not," Wild Bill said, looking at a reading from the map and coordinating it with a GPS. "We can't chopper all the way in; that would be suicide. They'd hear us coming and rocket us down. This is as deep as I can take us. Foot is our only option."

"Well." Lifeline leaned down and cautiously touched a corpse. "Rigor mortis hasn't set in yet. The lividity is still fairly decent. These people most likely died within the day, I'm thinking very early morning. Two or three o'clock. Which means the murderers can't be too far ahead of us." He slid his thumbs over the woman's eyelids, closing them for eternal rest. BeachHead knew this was hard for them all. It was hard on him, and he'd seen horrendous things in his lifetime. He'd seen bombs level cities and he'd seen many civilian casualties, but he had never been in the thick of genocide.

*There are fires up the road.* Snake Eyes had gone ahead to scout, and now returned with tense shoulders. BeachHead could not see his face, but he knew the body language; things would not improve up ahead. *They're dwindling, but they weren't set too long ago. If we hurry, we can catch this group before the next city. * He paused a moment, putting his hands down before bringing them back up again. *There are no survivors. The nursery...* He paused again. *We have to get to them before they get to another populated area. *

"We aren't supposed to get distracted," BeachHead warned, even as he picked up his pack from the trunk of the car. "If we find them on the way, and they happen to fire on us first, then we can cut their legs off. If not, we aren't going to go looking for them. We have a job to do." Even he knew that they were more than likely to come across the group if they stayed on the path. However, BeachHead would have an excuse for that. If they ran into the rebels, it was sure not going to be a pleasant passing. He was sure that they would fire first. Nothing was more predictable than the outcome of violence with untrained gunmen. In that case, he would be able to justify his retaliation and the delay in entering the city.

"This isn't a distraction," Steeler argued, pulling a few ammunition packs from the car and setting them on the ground. "It's our job. Not as soldiers, but as decent human beings. How are we supposed to just let them keep doing…that?" He motioned to the small town that had been ruined. "We will cross paths with them, and when we do, we'll carve them out so bad, they'll become black holes."

"Physically impossible," Lady Jaye pointed out, "but I happen to be in the mood to defy the laws of physics." Her face had become drawn and tight as she knelt down on the ground, covering a baby with the fabric of a shirt that had been torn off in the frenzy. "They killed an infant with a sword. How does someone do that? Maybe this isn't Cobra. I've never seen or heard of them attacking like this. No clear goal, pointless violence. The Commander is insane, but he always wants something. These people have nothing to give him. It doesn't make sense."

"Maybe not, but we ain't even seein' the whole picture yet." BeachHead adjusted the straps on his pack and checked his gun for instant use. If the chance was offered, he was firing. Hawk had said no distractions, but this wasn't a distraction, this had become personal. He was not a citizen of Africa, but being a member of GI Joe meant that he was connected to every country. It was his duty to protect innocent people from this. Orders or not, he would finish this himself if he had too. He had always been a strict chain of command type of guy. He knew his place. But he knew when it was time to step out of that place and make a stand. He was sure that if General Hawk could see what his team was witnessing, he would believe that too. Not only that, but if they did come across rebels, they would be halting that group's advance on the main city. Thus, his goal would be partially fulfilled. In fact, he might even consider himself one step ahead.

"Cobra or no Cobra, this has got to be stopped." Roadblock picked up one of the ammunition packs and strapped it on to the packs he already had. "I went down the road a bit. This town is smaller than our base, these people didn't have any sort of a chance nor did they pose any sort of a threat. This wasn't a battle or even a fight. It was an execution."

"Then lets keep going." Gung-Ho also grabbed a pack and slung it over his shoulder, his body handling twice the weight it was used to. His power seemed to come from a deep anger; he was unusually quiet. "I've never seen nothing like this. I thought this kind of stuff was over. I thought people were better now."

"People haven't gotten better," Lifeline said, pinching the bridge of his nose and exhaling slowly. "We've just gotten better at ignoring that fact. Let's go so I can get to people I can help. There's nothing left to do here."

BeachHead started down the road, picking his way carefully around the bodies as he went. His orders told him not to assist. His orders told him to not get distracted. But Steeler was right. This is what being a soldier was all about. It was about protecting the fundamental rights that every human was entitled to.

He had been on the side of law and order for his entire career. Without order and command, there was chaos. It was happening here and now, in this very town. It would become anarchy, and he was determined to not let that happen within his unit.

But maybe there was a line. He trusted Hawk with his life. He knew his General had experience, and that he knew what he was doing. BeachHead understood the importance of getting to the cities on time, but why were the lives of the officials more important than these civilians?

The truth was hard to accept, but he knew its gravity. Without the government officials, anarchy would prevail. That was exactly what he stood against. If he did not stop the insurgents from attacking there, then they would be in control.

He had to get to the city before the rebels did. He knew that. But still, his mind attempted to justify stopping and assisting. What if they came across reinforcements? What if this was the group headed towards the city? There was no way to be sure, and there was no way to avoid a confrontation. There was only one path to take, and that meant the rebels had taken it too. The only question was, would he fight to get back on tract, or would he fight to save whomever they were killing?

"I've been thinking," Steeler said, breaking the tense silence that had permeated the air. "That guy, the one that was in a lot of the pictures? He must be sort of a double agent. But…if he's not? Maybe we should have Breaker look up those pictures and cross-reference them with Zimbabwe Officials. I feel like we are being kept in the dark about something."

"Everyone is being kept in the dark," Gung-Ho said, shifting his pack. The bodies had become less and less as they walked. Now, a body was passed about every ten or so feet. "No one knows what's going on. That's why we're in here." He wiped his forehead and pulled his hat on further. The sun was bright and seemed to bounce off the dirt, waving back up in a desperate attempt to get back into the sky where it belonged.

"That actually is a good idea," Lady Jaye said, pulling her water bottle out of her pack and taking a sip. "Anything that can be done should be. The more we know what doesn't fit, the more we know what will, right? When we are able to, we should have someone do that analysis."

"Well," Wild Bill spoke up, setting the GPS down into the holder on his belt, "we don't have much further to go. According to this GPS and this map, the capitol should be located just over those hills. And there should be a town before that." His jaw tightened. "If it hasn't been hit, then we'll be able to stock up on some water hopefully and maybe be able to commission a vehicle. If it has…then we'll know where to find the sons of bitches that did it."

* * *

><p><strong>GI Joe Hammer Team<strong>

**BeachHead**

**Zimbabwe, Africa**

**4:47 PM**

They heard the screams before they saw the village. It had been a while since BeachHead had heard a scream like those; anguish captured perfectly in one tone. It was the type of cry that tightened his gut and made him feel as if his chest were caving in.

Villagers were running down the road, bare feet against the gravel, with nothing but the clothing on their backs and terror on their faces. When they saw BeachHead and his team, they hesitated. But when no one opened fire, they filtered past cautiously as if they were edging by a sleeping lion. One man fell to his knees in front of BeachHead, lifting his hands in prayer and lowering his head.

"You must help us," he begged, reaching forward and grabbing a hold of BeachHead's pant's leg. "My children. I cannot get to them! They will be killed, please! You must help us!"

BeachHead had been dreading this moment for the past hour. How could he turn this man, who was begging on his knees, away? How could he leave all these people? He leaned down and pulled the man to his feet, noticing the bloody wound on the side of his temple.

He desperately ran ways to justify his stopping in his head. These rebels were most likely on their way to the city. They were probably going to be fighting them eventually. Even if he tried to go through the area without fighting, the insurgents would no doubt fire on him first. He knew he was going against direct orders, but he also knew that he had proper justification. He was doing his job; his job to follow his duties, and his job to be part of humanity.

"Gawd dammit." BeachHead growled and nodded to the man before shoving him lightly along with the rest of the escaping villagers. "All right, all yew listen up! Now we got to be gettin' through here damn fast, so don't take your damn time! Let's do this quickly!"

His team moved out, rifles ready and aimed into the center of the village. Before BeachHead could even differentiate the rebels from the innocents, he was accosted by a sudden onslaught of bullets. He ducked instinctively before he was hit, rolling to the side and firing off a few rounds before finally hiding behind a stack of chopped wood. Bullets hit the other side of the stack, burying deep into the wood and splintering it off.

"Dammit." BeachHead looked over his barrier. Unfortunately, there were villagers mixed in with the shooters. It would be difficult for him to get a clear, open shot with so much going on around him. He was here to help these people, and he would be damned if he ended up wounding more then he saved.

"I can't set off any grenades in here!" Gung-Ho shouted from across the way. "Too many civilians. We're gonna have to make this happen the old fashioned way." He lifted up his gun and aimed from behind the house, nailing one man who was bringing his sword down on a young woman. The woman screamed as the now dead enemy collapsed on her, staining her white shirt with his blood.

BeachHead huffed and held his breath as he turned around, aiming through his scope and firing a few rounds before he felt a hand on his arm. He spun around, ready to pull the trigger on a little boy carrying a baby wrapped in blankets.

"Jesus Christ, kid! Get out of here! Go! Go down that way!" BeachHead grunted as a piece of wood splintered by his head. "Don't jus' sit there an' stare at me! Move it!" He spun around to deliver a few more shots, watching as Snake Eyes slashed through the arm of a man wielding a knife. The rebel screamed as his arm fell to the ground, the hand still clutching the sword until it hit the ground and the muscles lost their function. With another swift motion, Snake Eyes had taken off his head, pausing for less than a moment to swipe his sword under another man's legs, literally sweeping the insurgent off of his feet.

"Will you help me?" the boy asked, his dirty face cleaned in streaks from salty tears. BeachHead spun back around, staring at the boy and the baby briefly. This kid didn't even seem frightened. BeachHead had seen soldiers with that glazed over look. He'd seen good men freeze in the middle of a battle, as if frozen in place. He faced the fight again.

"That's what I'm trying to do!" He reached over the logs and fired another round before falling back against the wood, pulling out a new clip and loading it in. "I'm not fuckin' kiddin' kid! You got to leave right now!" The hair rose on the back of his neck as he heard fresh screams from the road they had come from and the sharp staccato of distant gunfight. They must have sent reinforcements. How could they have arrived so quickly? It was impossible, they hadn't been in battle for more than ten minutes and already they were receiving back up? BeachHead turned back to the kid before grabbing him, hoping the boy had a good hold of the baby as the Sergeant Major hefted him up. He ran across the dirt road that ran through the middle of the village and slidto a stop next to Steeler.

"Son of a Bitch!" Steeler knocked the butt of his gun into the forehead of a man before making room for BeachHead behind the small shack where he was positioned. "I can't tell who is who! They don't have any uniforms or distinguishing items…nothing!" Steeler wound a roll of gauze around his thigh where a bullet had grazed him. "More of them are coming. I can hear them, and the villagers are starting to run back into town." He paused. "Who are the kids?"

Sure enough, at the mouth of the village, people were starting to filter back in, running wildly for any cover they could find. Lady Jaye and Roadblock took position at the entrance, firing at the back up.

"I don't know, but I can't danged well leave them hangin' around in the open!" BeachHead set down the boy and drew back the blanket to check on the baby. "Awe Christ. He looked around, trying to locate Lifeline in the chaos of the moment. He spotted the red uniform a little further up the road, leaning over a villager with a roll of white gauze in his hands. "Lifeline! I need-"

"Don't call him," Steeler said morosely, taking the baby from the boy despite the protests he got in return. "It's already dead. Looks like it has been for a while."

"She's not dead!" The boy yelled, yanking back the baby from Steeler and grabbing the blankets off the ground. "She's just sleeping! Mama told me to look after her! She'll be here soon and then Ama will wake up!"

BeachHead looked at the baby in the blankets again. Her eyes were closed, but her skin was pale and tinted, and she had dried blood caked onto the side of her small head. He looked back up at the boy, who was re-wrapping the baby in the blankets meticulously. He didn't have the time or the heart right now to explain to this boy that the girl would not wake up.

Something flew over his head and crashed through the window above him. He pulled the kid close to him and ducked his head down to avoid the shatter of glass. "Was that a-"

"It was," Steeler said, standing up to look into the window. "Lets go…go! Go! Go!" BeachHead stood and grabbed the boy, making a mad dash for the next house over. But he didn't have enough time, and the Molotov cocktail exploded behind him. He felt the energy of the blast before the heat, and the force was such that it took him off his feet and sent him crashing a few feet away. He had the boy against his chest and he twisted his body before impact, making sure he would be the one to take the brunt of the fall.

For a moment, things seemed to shut down. His vision darkened before he forced his brains into overdrive. It was not the first time that he had been thrown by an explosion. He knew how to shake it.

"You okay kid?" he said with a groan, struggling to get back up on his feet. "Hey, where are you goin'?" He watched as the boy ran into the street, pointing with a bloodied hand at a house at the far left.

"That's my auntie's house! Mama always said I should go there when I get lost! She can help us!" The boy took off running down the street and BeachHead growled as he staggered up, shaking his head to clear the ringing in his ears.

"No! don't…awe what are you doing kid? You can't be goin' down there!" He ran after him, picking off a man who was about to set a flame to another cocktail. "Kid! Get back here!" He looked back briefly to see if Steeler had recovered. The tanker had, and he was back up into the fight, defending the village's small opening with Lady Jaye.

BeachHead had a hard time hearing anything over the pulsing of his own heart in his ears. But the blast of the firearms and the relentless screaming was doing the trick. He reached the boy just in time to pull him away from the house he was rushing towards, a home that was enveloped in flames.

"Hey!" BeachHead grabbed a woman as she ran past, despite her screams at his touch. "Calm down, I ain't gonna do nothin' to ya! You just got to watch this kid here!" He guided the boy forward, and thankfully the woman seemed to understand. She grabbed the boy up, holding him close as she ran down the pathway and disappearing into the smoke and dust.

BeachHead looked around, feeling a powerful guilt as he looked over the victims. He hadn't gotten here in time. No one had evacuated this village. He had thought that the government was taking care of evacuations. But then he realized that was only an assumption. He had assumed that all this stuff had been taken care of.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a shadow moving along the side of a shack. He turned his head towards the hooded figure. Something about the shadow set off his internal alarms. He didn't see the man's face, but something wasn't right with him. That man didn't belong.

"They're pulling back!" Wild Bill shouted, coming down the path and cocking his shotgun before pulling the trigger and sending his target crashing into the wall of a home. "We're almost done here! We managed to push them away from the city limits up ahead. They're moving back the way we came." Wild Bill wiped the sweat from his brow, pushing back the rim of his hat. "I wish we had gotten here sooner."

BeachHead turned back to look at the hooded figure, but the man had disappeared. He had more pressing issues to deal with then his gut feeling. It was probably only a villager. He turned around and fired at the last of the retreating rebels before finally lowering his gun and breathing a sigh of relief. "Everyone doin' okay? Damn village."

A car rumbled up through the front of the village and Roadblock stuck his head out of the window. "Got one of their cars. The reinforcements? Yeah we took care of them too. Gung-Ho is still down there with Lady Jaye and Steeler. They're directing the surviving villagers to that Red Cross camp we passed by. I'm gonna look around here and see if I can find any survivors."

"Roadblock," BeachHead rubbed the back of his neck, "did you pass a woman with a kid up there? I sent them off less than a minute ago."

"Sorry Sergeant Major. I didn't pass anyone else. They may still be around." Roadblock knelt down to help a man with an open stomach wound into the truck. It won't take long and then we'll be right back on track. We've delayed the attack on the city so we've got a bit of time."

BeachHead sighed and sat on the ground, pulling off his balaclava to run a hand through his hair. His entire body hurt. Normally he would have been more aggressive with his fighting, his battle strategy would have been more offensive. But with the large amount of civilians in the mix, he couldn't just fire away. However, now that he had avoided an offensive strategy, he found that he had taken more of a beating. He knew he had a piece of wood embedded into his shoulder, and although he had managed to steer clear of any bullet wounds, the fall from the explosion had left cuts that might as well have been caused by bullets. As he was pulling his balaclava back on, aclicking sound caught his attention.

BeachHead turned to see Snake Eyes dragging a struggling body towards him. Although the man's face was smeared with blood and dirt, BeachHead was able to identify him almost instantly. It was Odera Yamekwena, the man from the photos, and also a member of the Zimbabwe House of Assembly. Snake Eyes thrust him forward at BeachHead's feet, pointing his red-slicked _katana _into Odera Yamekwena's throat, pressing just hard enough to barely puncture the skin.

*He was here. He ran when we came. Found him on the way to the city.* Snake Eyes rubbed a forearm against this spattered visor and pointed toward Yamekwena**. ***He doesn't understand sign language and I didn't find it necessary to explain why I was dragging his ass back here. He shot at me when I came up. I don't think he's a good guy.* He paused, cocking his head slightly. *Well, I guess I would shoot at me if I saw a bloody black figure with a sword coming at me, but still. It's rude to make that assumption. I'm going back up there. I hid some kids in the bush area. I'm going to get them to Roadblock so he can bring them to the Red Cross.*

Snake Eyes withdrew his _katana_ from the assemblyman's neck and sheathed it behind his back before disappearing down the road again.

BeachHead reached down and grabbed the assemblyman by his shirt collar, lifting him up to his feet but keeping a firm hold on him. "I'm only gonna ask you this once. What are yew doin' out here?"

Odera Yamekwena snarled at him, and BeachHead had half a mind to drop him. He had seen bad people before in his life, but this man looked evil. He could almost see the horns on his head, the fire in his eyes. The man started laughing, a deep, throaty laugh that made the Sergeant Major's skin crawl.

"I'm sure you're government will be happy to hear about what you've been doing." Lifeline came up next to BeachHead, pulling off his ruined gloves. "How many of your citizens have you killed? No, how many of your citizens have you killed _today_?"

"Yeah, what are you doing?" Wild Bill shook his head. "You are going to aid the rebellion that's tearing your country apart? Look at these people!"

Odera Yamekwena smiled, his teeth clean and white. It was a smile that reminded BeachHead of a fox that tricked his prey into trusting him. Whatever was going on now, BeachHead demanded to know before he moved any further. If he kept going in blind, he would be putting himself and his team in danger.

"You fools," the assemblyman said with a voice like a circling vulture. "There are no rebels. We are the government."

* * *

><p><strong>Thanks for reading!<strong>


	4. Chapter 4

**Here's the next chapter. Hope you enjoy it! **

**Thanks to Karama9 for the best beta ever! **

* * *

><p><strong>GI Joe Echo Team<strong>

**New Delhi, India**

**9:20 PM**

Duke pressed his back against the wall of the guard shack in front of the capital building, feeling the peeling paint chip and fall beneath the pressure of his body. They had barely managed to get through the city without stopping. It had proved impossible to move as a group, he'd had to direct his team to split up and meet at the guardhouse before entering the building.

"Took you long enough."

Storm Shadow was sitting in the shack, his legs propped up on the table. Whoever had previously occupied the area must have left in a hurry. Paper covered the desk and the floor, and a drink had tipped over and spilled onto the keyboard. The computer was on its side on the floor and had a cracked screen.

"Yeah, how long have you been here?" Duke took the time to check his weapon. He had not yet had to fire, but he knew he had to be ready. The streets were filled with violent gangs, roaming and challenging whomever they saw fit. It hadn't been too hard to avoid them, once his team had split. But he knew they were out there. He could hear the not too distant shouts and cries, the loud waves of explosions.

"Long enough." The ninja lifted his legs off the table and stood, white attire standing out against the bleak background. "Long enough to know that the officials are being held on the third floor and that the front door is wired. As if we'd use that anyways. The front door? How could you be any less creative?"

Duke looked to the left as Covergirl walked up, brushing dirt off the legs of her pants. "I found this," she said, holding out a small hand-held radio. "Well, stole is the more appropriate term. Though the man I took it from won't be missing it."

"Gotten any useful information out of it?" Duke took the radio in his hand, being careful to avoid the talk button, and he maneuvered it into a somewhat safer position.

"Not much, to be honest." Covergirl nodded at Storm Shadow, who lazily saluted back to her. "But that's because they don't know we're here yet. When they know, then they'll be communicating more, and we'll be able to know where they are."

"Good call." Rock N' Roll had come from behind, looking in relatively good spirits. "If the people inside are as unorganized as the people out here, this shouldn't be a problem. Heck, Storm Shadow could probably take them all down himself."

"I'd take that bet." Storm Shadow smiled; white teeth lining a placid smile. Duke had always viewed the ninja as smooth. Everything about him seemed smooth, but sharp, like the edge of a blade. "Ace isn't here yet," Storm Shadow continued. "Pity."

"We wait for them," Duke reminded everyone. "There haven't been any calls over the unit, so I assume everyone is just taking their sweet time getting here. Other than Ace, who will be waiting for our cue."

"I had to take a round about route," Rock N' Roll agreed, pointing down the main road. "There were too many people down there, and here even the rooftops have gang members having a smoke on them."

"Well, that is because America is perhaps the only country that doesn't properly utilize the concept of a roof," Storm Shadow remarked, pointing to the rows of buildings, all with flat roofs. "Makes for great views and more space. And, in my particular business, great vantage points."

"Be that as it may, right now they aren't the best way to travel." Covergirl looked towards the capital building from the guard shack. "It looks so peaceful. It hardly seems like anything is even wrong in there. The only thing that seems to need help is the center city."

"This is the first step," Duke said, swiping his hand across the papers that littered the desk, hoping to find something useful but coming up empty handed. "If we can save the officials, the government will have a chance to get back on its feet. Then we start clearing the rebels out."

Out of the dark, unlit alleyway, the rest of his team slowly approached. Dusty was the last to arrive, telling of a particularly restless group of citizens heading this way.

"We need to get moving quickly," Dusty pressed, motioning to the building. "I don't want to run into them on the way back."

"With any luck at all, we won't be walking back." Duke motioned to the wide field to the side of the building; empty space provided just for helicopters and planes. "If we can secure the building, we'll call Ace and he'll fly us out of here."

"Up there." Rock N' Roll pointed to the capital roof top as too men walked lazily back and forth, guns slung over their shoulders as if they were little children playing a fun game. "Not snipers, but guns nonetheless. Best we try our way through the back…what?"

"Were you even considering going through the front?" Storm Shadow asked, finally removing his intensely disappointed glare from Rock N' Roll. "Honestly. You lack a sense of adventure. Let's try something fun like a window on the second floor."

"How about we go in a way that is easy and safe?" Duke suggested, nodding towards the wall of the shack, where a map was conveniently placed. "Looks like they've got an entrance in the back for the kitchen staff. That looks like our best bet right now."

"Do we know where the hostages are?" Doc asked, unpinning the map from the wall and rolling it up in his hands for future reference. Duke motioned to the ninja.

"I overheard a conversation a little before getting here. A man said they were on the third floor in the South East room, and that the front door was wired." Storm Shadow gave a very significant look to Rock N' Roll. "Which is why we don't use the front door."

"Wired huh?" Tripwire spoke up for the first time, squinting to get a better view of the door. "Oh...wait. Yes I see it. Standard." He turned back to Duke. "If you need it done, I can have that out for the count in a second."

"We may need you if they have the other side wired too, which is a possibility." Duke motioned for Doc to take out the map again as he briefly looked over it. "It's a possibility. I don't see any other ground level entry point."

"It seems like they're opting for bombs instead of eyes. I guess they figure that if the bomb goes off, someone tried to get in. Maybe they're short on men?" Covergirl looked around to the other side of the building. "It's dark, I can't see anything. But we can use that to our advantage. Hopefully the electricity stays out."

"It most likely will," Dusty nodded. "They have power outages all the time here, but this doesn't look like a power outage, it looks like the power has been deliberately shut off. Probably in some sort of effort to stop communication."

"We'll go in through the back then," Duke said, after looking at the map with Doc for a moment. "Tripwire, stay on guard. Seems like their main defense is the bombs. Let's go. Ace, stand by."

"Rodger." Ace's voice came out of the small radio before Duke silenced it and waved his arm to the side. His team moved, slipping back into the darkness like awaiting shadows.

He crept into the dark, lifting his scope to check out the guards at the top of the building. They could easily sneak around them, and Duke wouldn't be the one to break cover by firing off a shot. Luckily, his team was likeminded. Even Storm Shadow didn't appear to have a burning desire to dispose of the ineffective men.

"Wired," Tripwire said when he reached the back door, shining a small flashlight onto the site of the bomb. "This should only take a minute. It's terribly thought out."

While Duke waited for Tripwire to defuse the bomb, he motioned for his team to split and go around the sides for a scope out. He turned his radio back on.

"Looks like the lower floors are pretty much empty, Top," Rock N' Roll's voice buzzed through the radio. "Oh wait… no, we've got a few people. Looks like three, they're just sitting and drinking though…are you sure we're in the right place? I mean, the mango stand down the street had better security."

"We're in the right place," Covergirl answered. "There isn't anyone on the west side. But it doesn't matter, the stairs are on the east. We'll have to go through those guards anyway."

Duke's team came back around, and Dusty motioned to the streets, were the noises of rebellion were growing louder. "They're getting closer."

"Got it!" Tripwire pulled the safely defused bomb away from the door. "This thing looks like it's been put together with silly putty."

Duke looked around, doing a quick count of heads, finding he was one short. Storm Shadow was nowhere to be seen, but Duke wasn't about to worry about him. The ninja would catch up when he was ready, and most likely had found some equally important business to attend to, as he usually did.

"Move in, flank positions." Duke edged the door open with his gun, wincing as it creaked loudly. There was little way to avoid a creaky door, but hopefully it would go unnoticed.

They had entered inside the kitchen; the smell of spices was so strong that Duke's eyes began to water. It was obvious that it had been raided, however. Bowls and plates had been tossed on the floor and baskets of fruits had tumbled over onto counters. Duke walked slowly, careful to avoid the crunch of ceramic pieces under his boots. On the other side of the kitchen, he saw Covergirl and Doc pressed against the cabinets. Doc peered around the corner at the other side before holding up his hands to signal that the room was clear. Duke looked to his left and saw Dusty making the same sign.

Able to move forward, he entered the hallway. It was dark and grainy, with dust that had long since remained dormant tossed into the air with a recent struggle. Rock N' Roll gave the motion to make a left, and Duke turned.

On the ground were three guards, all knocked unconscious. A little further there was a table, with scattered playing cards and a bottle of open whisky, and Storm Shadow. Duke narrowed his eyes.

"How did you get in?" he whispered harshly. "I told you to wait!"

"I saw an opportunity to assist you all in getting into the building without having to fire shots and alert the entire block," Storm Shadow said calmly as he moved behind Duke, taking a place at the rear. "Besides, an open window is a much more exciting entrance, especially when you get to land on three particularly dimwitted poker players."

Duke begrudgingly nodded, waving off the ninja's explanation. Though Storm Shadow may have a different way of getting the job done, he always managed.

"Up the stairs. Third floor. Covergirl, Rock N' Roll and Storm Shadow, take the right. Doc, Trip Wire and Dusty, you'll come with me to get the officials out." Duke started up the pitch black stair case, steadying himself with a hand against the wall. He passed one opening, which he assumed to be the second floor, and then arrived at what he assumed to be the third.

Voices could be heard outside the door. Deep, relaxed voices with the nuances of Hindi. Duke motioned Dusty forward, who had studied the language.

"I think they're talking about a game of Cricket. I can't really understand…" Dusty looked back at Storm Shadow. "You getting anything?"

"I'm getting cricket, and cricket, and women, and drinking, and cricket." Storm Shadow snorted disapprovingly. "They're woefully unprepared. This is hardly appropriate conversation for guards on duty."

Duke motioned Doc and Tripwire to get to the other side of the inspected the door for a moment before clearing it, indicating that it was not wired and was therefore safe to open. Duke curled his hand around the knob and waited a split second before bursting it open.

The guards, sitting at a table much like the ones downstairs, startled and jumped up, fumbling for their weapons and realizing that they were not within reach. Covergirl and Dusty moved forward quickly, retrieving the firearms before anyone had a chance to make a dash for them. The men slowly lifted their hands, frozen in their places with wide eyes like trapped rabbits.

"Don't move. Where are the-"

Duke didn't have time to finish his sentence before the blast went off. It felt as if a volcano had erupted underneath him, sending himself and pieces of the building flying in the air. He landed, hard, on top of a table, catching his rib on the edge of a chair and his head on a large antique vase. He lifted a hand to his head, feeling the warm blood from his temple trickle between his fingers and down the side of his face.

"You alright?" Dusty was behind him, reaching a hand forward to help him up. The desert trooper had a cut on his arm, the blood dripping down his hand and onto Duke's as he pulled him up. "It was the bomb on the front door**, **I think. The gang must have gotten here. Someone tried to walk inside…took out the entire front half of the building."

"Is everyone okay?" Duke asked, wincing as he stood. The floor was now covered in the chunks of cement from the building. Doc was checking on Rock N' Roll, who was lying on the ground after apparently being knocked out. Everyone else was standing, looking relatively okay despite a few cuts and bruises.

"He'll be alright, he was just knocked out. He'll have a concussion, but he'll make it through." Doc stood, motioning for Duke. "I'd have someone radio Ace in. Let me see your head…looks like you've cracked your skull.

"Looks like they're moving in." Tripwire came into the main hallway from another room, where he had been looking towards to the main street. "Radio Ace, we've got to go."

"Ace, come in." Dusty pressed the button on his radio and released, hearing only static. "Do you read? We need the plane landing now." More static. Duke cursed, hearing the all too close shouts of angered civilians below.

"Find the officials. Get them out of here." Duke tried to stand, but Doc's hand pushed him back down.

"This way!" Covergirl motioned them down the eastern hallway, away from the rubble of the explosion. "The officials should be down here. If we hurry, we can still get out the back before the rebels get up here."

Storm Shadow had begun methodically busting open doors, looking for the officials but having little luck. "I don't hear anyone." He tilted his head for a moment. "We are the only ones here."

"We can't be the only ones here. If we're in the right place, and we received correct information, then the officials are here!" Covergirl kicked open a locked door and hissed in frustration at the empty room.

"Keep looking. We're in the right place." Duke gritted his teeth, radioing for Ace while Doc finished bandaging his head. Duke could smell the peculiar scent of burning human flesh from downstairs, most likely the guards that Storm Shadow had knocked unconscious. The mob was moving closer; he could hear them now, words becoming distinguishable in the thick of the noise.

"I've found them," Dusty said morosely, standing in front of the hallway. Duke nodded and shrugged Doc off, heading to the room while Storm Shadow and Covergirl moved inside.

"Doc, come here they may need-"

"Don't bother calling him in, Duke." Dusty said, as Storm Shadow slowly entered the room. Covergirl backed out to cover her mouth, buckling over as if a disease had taken hold of her. "They're dead. They're all dead."

Inside the room, it was a slaughter. Duke could not make out a full body, but rather pieces of them. An arm, a leg. A gruesome head on a curved cane. Blood soaked the intricate Indian carpets, and the walls were splattered with so much of it, that the reddish brown could have been their natural color. On the wide paned window, curtains whipped around with the flutter of a breeze, dancing out of the way to reveal the words stained in streaked blood.

Corruption.

"These bodies have been dead for days," Storm Shadow said, looking back at Duke as he backed out of the room. "I knew this wasn't right. It doesn't make sense. They told us that the officials were still alive. Why would they send us to rescue those already dead?"

"Who sent us?" Tripwire questioned, eyes widening as he looked into the room and paled. "Where did the information come from?**"**

"A man," Duke said, clenching his fists in frustration. "There was a representative at the UN conference. A stand in because the official representative was supposedly captured…"

"Duke?" Doc came around the corner, hand closed around the small radio. "You may want to-" he paused when he saw the room and briefly closed his eyes, turning his back before handing the radio. "You may want to listen to this."

On the radio, a feverish voice whispered, fast and light.

"Hail Cobra. Hail Cobra. Hail Cobra."

* * *

><p><strong>Thank you! Hope you liked it! <strong>

**Sorry for the cliff :3**


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: Here we go, introducing an OC. I was planning on making this an OC free story, but he was needed just to show how the Commander went from crazy maniacal schemes to intelligent devious strategy. Don't worry, he won't play too big of a part, don't hate me! Also, I'm sorry about how long it has taken me to do...anything, really! I've been busy with school (I know! I didn't think I'd start to care either!) and I'm pretty sure the only reason I managed to get something uploaded today was because I fell down some stairs and injured myself and rendered myself useless to do much of anything else! But hopefully this means I'll be getting back on track. Point out any errors, please! I may have missed some (a lot) due to my erratic state of mind right now! **

**Also, I took the liberty of shaping Slipstream into the way I desired. I actually don't know too much about him, so he may be a little out of character (or a lot) but I think he's the only one that could possibly be off base! **

**Enough of this nonsense! Are you still reading this! Sheesh. Onward! **

* * *

><p><strong>Cobra HQ<strong>

Common.

It was a word used to describe the conventional, to define the presence of excellence, to grace the importance of the extraordinary. Without common there was no superiority, no distinction from the masses.

He knew what it meant. He knew why it was given to him. Bestowal of a name, an object, insecurity. It was the trademark of the world, a way of identification, separation of the known. If Common was his name, then he would be anything but. Worth was a weak motivator but it fed pride like a child, cultivated the vanity that spurred the animalistic competition between the likeminded.

Motivation was not hard to find for him; life was the stimulator. Nothing more than survival.

Everything about him seemed underplayed and smooth. Smooth skin, smooth hands; nails trimmed short and hair shaved close to his scalp. Even his voice was smooth like heavy cream, low and unchanging in pitch. He seemed soft, almost blurred. His smoothness seemed to blend him into the background of places. Always there but never noticed. He was of average height, of average weight. Strong willed, but not strong muscled. Underplayed, average, usual. Only his eyes stood out; they glittered like the cold seas of Norway.

Nothing seemed to make him smile. Emotion seemed beneath him, or perhaps it was something he did not understand. Love, happiness, trust; these words were intangible. He did not believe in what he could not see. But primal instinct, he believed, was separate. Jealousy, anger, fear; negativity was something he could relate too. He knew that negativity was what kept people alive and referred to these emotions as innate and true. Anger drove people on, fear made people smart. Negative thought was human nature to him, and he followed it like his religion. Happiness isn't real; it is actually a different perception of jealousy. Love is a mistaken form of fear. He did not believe what he could not see, but he could see negativity. He saw it in people; he saw it in himself. Hatred was a hard stone in his body that he wrapped around like a snake. He cultivated it like a small flame until it grew out into something intangible, unmentionable.

As for God, he did not believe. He would snarl at organized religion. He called them fools, praying to something that did not exist. He could not see the divine, just as he could not see joy. Instead, he believed in definite. There was an end to life, just as there had been a start. After death, there would be nothing. No thought, no body. You would simply cease to exist.

For someone who did not believe in the divine, he considered himself the closest to it. Though he had no accomplishments to warrant that feeling, he still held the highest opinion of himself. He believed he could see what others could not. He would find the faults in people, even the people under the most exalted stature. George Washington was really a controlling tyrant; Mother Teresa was a fraud. That, in his mind, made him better than everyone else. People around him were insects, and he was the only true being.

He worked to prove people wrong. If someone called him egotistical, he would go out of his way to publically disprove the notion. He felt superior when others failed. He considered it a right to best others, a right that he had inherited through his very birth. He destroyed to build. He would step on anyone he could to get to what he wanted; he knew he was a hedonist. It was not something he was ashamed of, however. It was something he was proud of. He thought it was natural to look out for what he wanted. If he would not help himself, who would? It was a nasty cycle that he had created himself.

He was parasitic in nature. He was superficially charming, but underneath his smooth skin laid sharp scales. He would go on dates for free meals with women of rich backgrounds. He would only contact his parents when he was in need of something. He could untangle the truth like silk ribbons, but it was the lies that slid out of him like caramel. Compulsive lying was a game to him. What could he get people to believe? How far could he push them?

Money was an interesting concept to him. It meant nothing, but it also meant everything. He had enough of it to get by. It was only paper, he would say. It's just all in our heads. But he knew how important the mind was. He would often second-guess himself, his motives; everything he was doing was a puzzle. The world itself was a puzzle to him. Why is this, why is that? Why is anything the way it is?

Material belongings were important to him. He saw no point in living, other than to be comfortable while it lasted. He spent to time pursuing relationships with family or friends. He had no desire to raise a family. He knew that loneliness, desertion, it was all part of the human experience. He learned to live alone, because it was in his best interest. No one to care about meant nothing to worry about. But he did want things. He wanted games and couches, junk food and a television. He didn't care about his health, but he always managed to look good. He considered attractiveness part of his image that he had to maintain, part of his superiority.

At age 24, he was diagnosed as a sociopath. Someone unable to feel emotions. Was he unable to feel emotion, or did he choose not to feel emotion? Was there a difference? But Common had laughed at the diagnosis. He said it made him better. Sociopathy was the future; it was the pinnacle of human evolution. Everyone looking out for his or her own interests, human instinct at its purest state. No government, no programs. Just people, taking what they want and doing what they want. He believed that was the end of the line. Human nature would eventually push out kindness, love, generosity. There was no room for those unrealistic emotions.

But soon after, something seemed to change. He went from apathetic to dangerous. His hedonist nature seemed to carry him away. It started out small. He would steal from people at the restaurant that he worked at. He'd break into the lockers in the back and go through people's belongings, taking whatever he found interesting. Not only money, but key chains, gift cards. Anything he could use to his own advantage. Then he turned personal. He would take pictures of loved ones out of wallets and burn them with a lighter, then leave half of the picture behind. The restaurant fired him after that.

Then Cobra found him.

He was the kind of man that the Commander had a fondness for. He was young, impetuous, devious. He seemed to be beaten down by the government. But he was not. Common had read the Commander as easily as he had read everyone else. Manipulation was a skill of his. He could feel it; he could pull it out of people.

He wanted to hurt people, and the Commander would give him that opportunity. Oh yes, he would make people see. He would make them taste the reality of the world. He would make them cringe in self-loathing. He would make parents bury their children and then burn the flowers atop the graves.

The Commander was pleased with the progress of his newest recruit. There was no hesitation or questions from Common, only a willingness to complete the mission by whatever means necessary. The Commander saw a man devoted to the cause, devoted to the future that Cobra worked to build. He did not realize the monster he was creating. How could he? That smooth man, how could he be so bad?

But Common saw a chance to destroy. If his job were to convince a man to fund Cobra, he would simply take the money himself and threaten the man into silence. When the cooperation was no longer desired, Common would kill him in the most painful way possible. The truth was becoming clear. Common could not have been a sociopath, he enjoyed the pain of others too much. A sadist, the devil lived in him.

So he spent the years slowly climbing up the ranks, slowly gaining the Commander's trust until he became an adviser of sorts. Now he had his chance. He would make the world see how bad people could truly be. He would show the world what true nature was.

He began systematically. He convinced the Commander to fuel money into groups of rebels in volatile countries, on the notion that the insurgents would distract GI Joe; Cobra's main roadblock to gaining world control. Instead of these crazy schemes the Commander always funneled money into, why not let the people of the world destroy themselves? The Commander liked the idea, and began to fund revolutions in countries like India and Brazil and places all over Africa in the Middle East.

Common had located a group called the Coalition For Freedom, a group dedicated to the eradication of governments of any kind. They were made of angry citizens, and had formed bases all over the world, in every country. Disgruntled and disillusioned people with the will to take things to a violent level. Anarchists, Common could taste the disaster they could cause if they only had the money. Again, he convinced the Commander to support them.

The result: Catastrophic bombings all over Europe and in parts of the United States, bloody rebellions that have spread nearly all over the world. GI Joe was good, yes. But a few skilled people would have a hard time stopping rebellions with no common ground, no common source to stem. The connections to Cobra were few, with only a few overseers in key rebellions to edge things on.

And now, with one more ace in their deck, Common had created a surefire plan. The Commander could have the world, for all he cared. He just wanted to watch it burn.

* * *

><p><strong>GI Joe Tango Team<strong>

**Stalker, Clutch, and Slipstream**

**2:30 PM**

"What a delightfully dim coffee shop," Clutch said, holding up the image of the Baroness above him to block out the sun. "I bet that was where she was headed. It looks like the sort of place she would go. Dark, smoky, life sucking…you know, the usual."

"Hardly." Stalker took the image from Clutch and looked down at it, noting the coffee shop in the photo, as well as the small clothing boutique next to it. "But it does look like we're in the right place. Unfortunately, nothing around here seems to be of particular interest." Stalker gazed around before fitting himself in the exact position the Baroness was in the picture, turning his face in the same direction. "It looks like she's looking at this store."

Slipstream stood up from the table he was seated at and stood next to Clutch, squinting his eyes to sharpen his vision in the sun. "It looks like a mom and pop restaurant. See? You can see the housing unit about the diner. Harmless."

"Or made to look harmless," Clutch pointed out, motioning to the building. "Like those flowers that really eat people. If she was heading in there, I bet we'll find more than just the 'best Panini in town'."

Stalker looked at the photo again, trying to take in every piece of it. The picture was blurry, so the facial expression was not distinguished enough to get a reading off of, but her stance seemed business like. In the middle of a wide pace, fingers clutched around a talkie and face angled forward, determined and sure. He doubted she was just looking for a place to eat. They had to handle this carefully; if they ran into a nest of vipers before they were prepared, it would be bad for everyone.

"Well then, let's check it out. It won't hurt, and we're bound to get some delicious Panini out of it." Clutch nudged Slipstream with his elbow and walked past Stalker towards the small restaurant.

The place was small, blue and white tiled with white counter tops and saltshakers shaped like Dalmatian dogs. There was one entrance that was also the only exit, and a wooden door behind the counter that most likely led upstairs. Everything was in the diner itself, a refrigerator and a small stove and oven set, with a small menu noting the specials written in chalk above the fresh pastries that lined the tabletop.

Stalker could smell the sharp scent of cinnamon as soon as the door has opened. It smelled like any other bakery, delicious and unthreatening. A few men were sitting at the counter, eating large scones the size of grapefruits and plates of scrambled eggs. The breakfast crowd must have just ended, unless this was as big as the crowd got.

An elderly woman with her white hair swept up in a bun behind her head wiped her hands off on a decorative towel, placing it neatly back on the rack and turning to face her new customers as the bell dinged over Clutch's head.

"Hello dears," she said cheerfully, motioning with one hand to the stools along the tabletops. "Why don't you have a seat and I'll be right with you."

Clutch sat down on the stool and leaned over the counter, gazing up at the menu like any other customer would as he elbowed Slipstream. "Look. Panini."

"Actually, Ma'am," Slipstream held up the fuzzy photograph again, pointing to the Baroness. "Could you tell us if you've seen this woman around?"

Well, there went Stalker's carefully constructed plan of subtlety. Apparently, Slipstream was not feeling the same sense of tension in the air that Stalker could feel almost as easily as he could feel the cold tile as he sat down with Clutch.

The old woman squinted, leaning closer to see the image more clearly. Stalker took the opportunity to look around the store in more detail. Pictures of family members and frequent eaters lined the wall, holding up large plates of pancakes and burgers. This seemed like a fairly Americanized diner, which was unusual this far into France. The woman, as far as he could tell, didn't even seem to be of French origin, and Stalker categorized her in his mind as an Ex-Pat. He walked over to a few of the framed pictures, gazing over faces. He normally had a fairly good memory, especially with facial recognition.

"Well wait one moment, let me find my glasses dear." The woman straightened back up, looking distinctly unhappy before she made eye contact with Clutch, where her smile returned full throttle. "Please, make yourself at home." She walked into the wooden door that Stalker had noted earlier, opening it briefly to reveal a cluttered room with cardboard boxes overflowing with unorganized papers.

"Don't mind if I do," Clutch said, sitting on a stool and reaching out for a menu. Slipstream promptly knocked his hand away with a heavy stare. "What? We aren't allowed to eat? This place, it has the best Panini in the world, and you don't expect me to get one?"

Stalker ignored their bickering, walking slowly past the row of pictures. Nothing seemed to change much. Faces got older, new ones came and went. There was one photo sequence that showed a toddler growing up into a young adult before his very eyes, and one picture with a dog eating off a full plate of bacon and eggs. But then something caught his eye. A face that he had seen many times before, in briefings and on the television, leaning over the counter and smiling at the same woman that was serving them now.

"Hey, come over here." Stalker waved his team over and pointed to the image. "That look familiar to you?"

"No way." Clutch's eyes widened and he rubbed the back of his head. "Gosh, small world ain't it."

Slipstream snarled. "A little too small, if you ask me. She isn't some French born citizen just looking to make ends meat. Not with friends like those. And she looked at that picture too long. It doesn't take people so long to-"

"I found them," the old lady interrupted, coming out of the back room with he glasses in hand. She wiped them on her apron as Slipstream, with a look from Stalker, approached the counter and placed the photo back in the woman's hand. It was best, they all knew, to act oblivious for the time being, and maybe pull some more information out of her before they made the call.

"You know what," she said as she inspected the photo. "She does look familiar. She came in here a few days ago! Delightful young lady, very classy." She leaned forward with a hand over her mouth and Slipstream leaned back slightly with one eyebrow raised. "Although she was very high maintenance. If I were you, I would look for someone else. She's very pretty, but a lady shouldn't be so needy."

Clutch laughed and put his hand on Slipstream's shoulder, scooting in next to him. "Hear that? Find someone else. Bad news bears, bad news." He laughed again and picked up the menu, handing one to Stalker who had come to sit nearby. "So, I think I may have to try one of these Panini. And what did my buddy's girl come in here for anyway?"

Clutch, for all his irreverence, did produce the sort of safe atmosphere that most people looked for. He was friendly, and that meant he was particularly good at getting people to lower their guards. He opened the menu and seemed to be more involved in finding the right food to order instead of the answer to his question. Stalker wasn't entirely sure if that was purposeful or not.

Slipstream nudged Clutch's hand off his shoulder and gave Stalker a very clear look, one that Stalker recognized as the same look you got from horse the moment before it's released from the gates. Someone was going to be in the infirmary before this day was over, and Stalker was willing to bet money that it would be Clutch. "Yes. What was she doing in here?"

"Well, she had lunch of course," The old woman smiled and turned her back on them, moving to the kitchen supplies. "I'll get you that Panini right away dear."

Clutch looked up from the menu, his eyebrows raised, but he didn't object. Stalker had noticed it too- Clutch hadn't ordered anything yet. Nothing to cause a fuse about, but it still made them both suspicious.

"Do you know where she was headed?" Stalker asked, noticing that the two other people that had been in the restaurant had left. They were the only ones here now. But Stalker hadn't heard the bell go off from the only exit. He hadn't seen them walk past. Which means the only plausible answer was that they had moved to the back room. Something about the diner set off internal alarms, and as a soldier for many years, he had learned to never ignore those feelings. It was the picture, the baroness, the area, the woman; nothing about this seemed right.

"Well, I'm sure I don't, child." She placed a warmed Panini in front of Clutch, who nodded in thanks and after a moment picked the sandwich up, although not taking a bite. "She ate alone and then left. I didn't pay too much attention to her myself, though perhaps I should have!"

"Why do you say that?" Stalker asked, trusting his instinct that something wasn't right here. As far as he was concerned, the woman was involved in this, and knew who they were.

"Well," The woman hesitated briefly as she poured him a glass of water. "I just wish I could be more help to you delightful young men."

Stalker pulled the glass toward him and let it sit there. He hadn't seen where the water from the pitcher came from, and he wasn't going to take the chance.

"Hey!" Slip Stream jumped up as Clutch fell to the floor, the Panini that was in his hand skidding on the tiled floor, still uneaten. He was unconscious, seemingly unharmed but clearly passed out as Slip Stream knelt to check his pulse. "He's alive…what the hell…"

Stalker put a hand to his forehead as the room began to spin ever so slightly. He pulled his hand away from the glass he had been holding, seeing the imprint of his fingers on the cup. He felt nauseous and dizzy, the stool he was sitting on started to tip. Vaguely, he saw Slipstream pull his weapon and fire at two men who had emerged from the backroom, holding pistols of their own.

"DMSO," the old woman said, wiping the water glass off with a cloth calmly as the two men chased Slipstream out of the diner. "Harmless on it's own, but it does help drugs absorb into the skin."

Stalker reached for his radio, his hands fumbling to find the panic button, but before he could, his eyes closed on their own accord, and he forgot why he was trying so hard to fight the sleep that he so desperately wanted.

* * *

><p><strong>GI Joe Tango Team<strong>

**Scarlett, Flint, and Mainframe**

**3:00 PM**

_"Cover Girl calling in. We have two severely wounded and Ace is MIA. We need evac immediately. Does anyone copy! Hello! This is Cover Girl! This is an emergency transmission! We have our proof!"_

_"Clutch and Stalker have been captured, requesting backup at 22nd street now! Hello! Can you hear me! Hey! Scarlett, HQ? Hello!"_

_"Our information was wrong, we got government exterminatin' their own people over here! You here me! This ain't cobra!"_

_"Please! In about five minutes we're going to be overwhelmed here! There's too many of them! Shit!"_

Scarlett heard them, the pleas on the radio unit, but her attention was captured by something else. In front of them was perhaps the largest arsenal of nuclear weapons and bombs that she had ever seen, and each bore two insignias on them. The red shaped cobra and a new symbol that she did not recognize, a giant sticker with the letters CFF written in black.

Beside her, Flint was attempting to call back into the Pitt, but the transmission was being blocked, which was what she assumed was happening to the others. If they couldn't get through to base, there would be no evacuation. Mainframe pushed him aside and broke the radio open to make sure everything was working properly.

"The radio is fine, we've got a signal blocker." Disgusted, mainframe sat back, rubbing his forehead and staring at the radio. "What's worse, it's coming directly from the Pit."

Flint took out his phone, snapping pictures of the weapons for evidence if they were discovered.

"Guys," Scarlett picked up her unit and held it close to her mouth, steadying her breath. "We're on our own, and we've got a big problem."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed. Also, heres a fun fact for you: I actually had a plot that was similar to the new GI Joe movie coming out. I swear, this was coincidental, I had no idea what the plot of that movie was going to be until a few days ago! So in order to not look like a lame copy cat I shall revise some things in future up-coming chapters. This has no importance to you at all really, I just thought you'd like to know...thank you! <strong>


End file.
